


so quite new a thing

by renquise



Category: Kamen Rider W (Double)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/pseuds/renquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philip doesn't remember exactly when his body first changed from a necessary inconvenience that needed to be fed, watered and occasionally rested to something—not vital, perhaps, but wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so quite new a thing

Philip likes kissing a lot. He read about it, of course, and it always seemed like a lot of fuss over nothing much, honestly. A mate-assessment function of sorts, reinforced by the concentration of nerve endings in the lips and the large proportion of the sensory cortex of the brain dedicated to lip sensations. 

But in practice, the appeal of it is clearer, perhaps. 

He especially likes it with Shotaro half-undressed, both of them tucked into the bed corner and pressed against each other, and likes the sexual activity that comes with it, too. 

Shotaro made some noises about having another page of the report to type up when Philip came up from the basement for coffee. He didn't get around to it, largely because Philip decided that he wasn't really in the mood for coffee, but rather for kissing. Shotaro didn't seem to be getting much done, anyway.

Philip thinks that spending the rest of the evening kissing in bed is a far more productive use of time, in any case.

Shotaro pulls back from the kiss, licks his lips and swallows, his throat bobbing. “Hey,” he says. 

“Yes?” Philip says, tucking his hair back behind his ear. The clips seem to have worked themselves out at some point, likely when Shotaro had his hands in his hair. 

“Can you—I really want—” Shotaro gestures at himself, at Philip, and his mouth works wordlessly.

Philip flattens his hand against Shotaro's neck. There's a hunger there, sweet and unsure, that vibrates against his skin and echoes inside his own mind. “What?” he asks. And then, when Shotaro isn't forthcoming, “Hm, what keywords?”

As expected, Shotaro groans into his hands and says, “Oh my god, _no_ , Philip, I'm going to kill you.”

Philip can't help but smile as he tugs Shotaro's hands away from his face and kisses him, grinning through Shotaro's outraged muttering that if he dares do a lookup while while they're in the process of getting naked, he's never, ever doing this again, don't you even dare start glowing, Philip. 

“Well, you'll just have to tell me, then,” Philip says. Very reasonably, he thinks.

Shotaro squares his shoulders, blushing hard. “Could you put your fingers in me? It's fine if you don't want to, we can always do something else,” Shotaro barrels on. “I just, yeah, I'd really like it, I mean, your hands, they're really nice—”

Philip kisses him quickly to forestall any more rambling, since they've finally gotten to the point. 

He then applies himself to pulling off the rest of Shotaro's clothes, since they're in the way.

“Hey, don't just throw my clothes on the floor,” Shotaro says weakly. His shirt is already all bunched-up from where Philip had pushed it aside earlier, so Philip doesn't really think it matters, really.

Once Shotaro is undressed, Philip lies down next to him again, because he likes the feeling of Shotaro's skin all against his. It's very easy to lay together and rub against each other, and Philip likes that best of the things they've tried so far, likes the way his nerves go electric everywhere that they touch.

It reminds Philip of the first few months after he'd returned. He doesn't remember missing his senses in the year between. Couldn't remember to miss them, perhaps. He existed in that time, knowing that there was something that he needed to return to, but little beyond that.

He remembers touching things a lot when he came back, remembering that clothes were soft and coffee was earthy and bitter and Akiko's shampoo was fruity and Shotaro's hands were spindly and nervous and present in fleeting touches. 

Things that helped him define again what was his body and what wasn't, familiar and new all at once. 

Shotaro pulls back from kissing. His eyes are very dark and his lips are very red. Philip reaches out to touch his mouth, feeling the damp warmth of his breath. 

Shotaro blushes dark, his eyes darting away from Philip's. He reaches over to root around between the mattress and the wall, emerging with a tube of lubricant.

“You _have_ been thinking about it,” Philip observes, taking it from his hand and sitting up.

“I. Yeah,” Shotaro says, lifting his chin, as if in challenge. 

Shotaro draws his knee up beside him. Philip turns his head to kiss the bend of Shotaro's knee and draws his hand up Shotaro's thigh. There's something texturally pleasing in the gentle scratch of hair fading to bare smoothness at the back of his knee. 

“That tickles,” Shotaro complains half-heartedly, even as he shivers. 

Philip places another kiss higher on the inside of his thigh, and Shotaro's legs fall open a little wider. “Mm?”

“Come on, Philip,” Shotaro says, soft.

The lubricant is messier than expected. Philip presses his finger into Shotaro slowly, and Shotaro makes a choked-off noise, the muscles in his belly flexing. He's very warm inside. (Thirty-seven degrees celsius is the average temperature of a human body, though Shotaro has always run a little colder.) 

“Like that?” Philip asks. 

Shotaro nods, and Philip pushes his finger further in, feeling every shudder that passes through Shotaro. 

Shotaro places his hand on his cock, not really stroking it, just pressing down on it with the heel of his palm as he moves with Philip. Philip applies a kiss to his belly, at the tips of his fingers.

He gives Shotaro another finger, pushes them further in, and Shotaro twists under him, his hand flailing and catching in the sheets. Philip's eyes catch on the styloid process of his wrist, the wonder of amino acids joined and folded over and twisted into the sleek muscle of his forearm.

Shotaro drums his heel against Philip's back, catching his hand and twining their fingers together. “Oh my god, Philip, if you don't move, I swear—” he says, desperate and open and so, so very present. 

His mouth is wet and red, a flush spreading down his chest, and Philip pushes his fingers in deeper, letting Shotaro ride his fingers, rolling with the hitch of his hips. When he leans forward and takes Shotaro into his mouth, Shotaro makes a soft, surprised sound, half-muffled by his own hand clapped over his mouth, his knees drawing up on either side of Philip. He's a hot weight on Philip's tongue, the skin soft and taut, the taste much like other parts of Shotaro, only more pronounced.

It makes Philip doubt the library, because he read all that was contained in the shelves on Hidari Shotaro early on in their partnership. He knows that Shotaro has kissed three people—two women, one man, not including Philip himself—and that he first had sex in the back of a small car with a sweet, enthusiastic classmate, where he lasted around three minutes and whacked his head against the window twice. He knows that Shotaro has tried this before, on his own. 

But it seems odd, somehow, that the library doesn't know the cambered arch of Shotaro's back, the sweat in the dips of his skin. Sometimes, Philip wonders what the Earth chooses to remember, what sinks deep enough through its layers to sing at its core. Well, it should know this now.

“What does it feel like?” Philip says, replacing his mouth with his hand.

Shotaro's eyes are slitted, his breath coming in gasps as he lifts his hips to angle them against Philip's fingers inside him. “Good—it feels really good,” he says, his voice low and raspy. 

Philip huffs out a breath, because it isn't a terribly descriptive observation. The library has always had its failings in the realm of describing sensory experiences, defaulting to chemical composition to describe taste and electrical impulses in neurons to describe touch, and Philip just wants to _know_.

“But you probably want something, ah, more detailed, right?” Shotaro says. There's something fond and gentle in his hazy smile. 

His hand comes to rest on Philip's hand on his cock, stilling his movement. His hips keep moving, though, nudging Philip's fingers inside of him. There's a line between his eyebrows as he closes his eyes in concentration, and Philip, irrationally, wants to kiss it. 

“It—um, it just kind of feels full, and hot, and kind of weird, like something's not supposed to, er, be there, but in a good way? And it's you, and your hands, and your lips, and that's just—I don't know. Amazing.”

Philip presses his lips to the hollow of Shotaro's hip. There's a warm weight in his chest, pressing against his lungs and settling like a small sun inside his ribcage: another thing the library could not adequately describe.

“Is that okay?” Shotaro says, a blush riding high on his cheeks. “Come on, stop staring,” 

“You should do it to me, afterwards. I'd like that,” Philip says. 

He feels Shotaro shudder under him, and Shotaro's mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to say, “Okay, yes, we can do that, definitely.” Shotaro tugs on his arm. “Philip, just, come here, please.” 

Philip lets Shotaro urge him upwards, Shotaro's hands skating down his sides and curling around his back with a nervous energy that echoes in Philip's skin, like he can't decide what he wants to touch. He knows Shotaro's body and the way that he fits inside its borders when Shotaro gives over his half, the stretch and the pull of its muscles when they fight. But this is different, new. They're not two in one, but two discrete entities, and that, somehow, is more complicated and more intimate.

Shotaro kisses him messily, and it makes Philip shiver against him, jerking his hips to slide against Shotaro. He feels Shotaro spill hot and wet against his belly, his mouth open on a gasp.

Shotaro is flushed and very alive, and Philip wants to press his mouth to the thrumming vein in his neck, so he does. 

Philip can feel Shotaro's cock twitch against his belly, and he slides his hand down to press against its soft contour. Shotaro makes a quiet, overstimulated sound, but doesn't push his hand away. When Philip brings his hand back up to his mouth, there's the taste of Shotaro's come on his fingers: salty, a bit bitter. 

“Oh my god, don't _do_ that,” Shotaro says, his cheeks very red. Philip estimates his expression as somewhere between appalled and very turned on.

“Hm?” Philip says. He wipes his hand clean on the sheets.

“I. Never mind.” He ducks his head in, gives Philip a quick, hot kiss. “Should I—do you want me to put my mouth on you?” Shotaro asks, a little embarrassed and eager and so willing to please, his hand already curling around Philip's cock and urging him on gently.

Philip considers that. He nudges his hips into Shotaro's hand, enjoying his touch and shivering when Shotaro grips him a little tighter. “No, like this is good.” His hand bumps into Shotaro's chin when he brings his hand up. “Or, perhaps you should put your fingers inside me, as I did. That would be even better, wouldn't it?” 

“I. Yeah.” Shotaro says, blinking rapidly. 

It takes some rearranging, and Philip gets distracted by kissing Shotaro some more, and also by applying his mouth to Shotaro's neck and sucking a bruise into the thin skin at the hinge of his jaw, but then Shotaro is kneeling between his legs, the lubricant clutched in his hand.

“Okay?” he asks. 

Philip makes an impatient gesture—yes, please, let's go.

Shotaro curls his hand around him when he presses his slick fingers into Philip. Philip breathes out, adjusting to it, nudging his hips into Shotaro's hand. Shotaro's description is accurate, if somewhat incomplete, as usual. It's an aching stretch, Shotaro's fingers blunt and tentative inside him, and it just makes Philip want more.

He doesn't notice that he's closed his eyes, but when he opens them again, Shotaro is watching him carefully, his lips open and his eyes wide. 

“Philip,” he says. A little shocked, or amazed, perhaps. 

Philip likes the shape of his name on Shotaro's lips. He likes it when Akiko or Terui say it, too. It feels like a title shimmering on his skin upon finding the right set of keywords for the library, unique and unduplicated.

Shotaro moves closer against him, pushing his fingers deeper and giving him another, and Philip takes them gladly, shifts against the mattress to angle them inside him. It's good, it's very good: a slow, hot build for something just out of reach. 

Philip can feel Shotaro hardening against his thigh again, not there yet, but a suggestion. There is something warm and pleasing that settles in his belly at the thought that Shotaro is aroused just by watching him. He arches his back against the sheets, looking up at Shotaro through his eyelashes—showing off a little, perhaps, but it makes Shotaro's eyes go wide and dark, and he likes that.

There are so many things that Philip wants to try, because they're fascinating, and fun, and interesting. He wants Shotaro inside him, and he wants to be inside Shotaro, too, and he wants to discover the limits of this body, to push at its borders and find its undiscovered places.

For now, though, it makes sense to follow up this line of inquiry. He grasps Shotaro's wrist, arrests its movement. Shotaro stops at once, glancing up to meet his eyes.

“I think you should fuck me,” Philip says.

“Like, um—” Shotaro says. He sits up and makes a half-gesture in the air. It's the kind of gesture that has been used to accompany anything from 'let me try and organize this case file in a way that makes some sort of sense' to 'yes, madam, your cat is safe and sound and also an unholy terror', so Philip thinks he might need clarification.

“Putting your cock inside me? Yes, unless you had another idea,” Philip says. Shotaro has always had the capacity to surprise him, after all. 

Shotaro makes a strangled noise. It sometimes takes him awhile to get verbal again when he gets like this, so Philip waits.

“Are—are you sure?” Shotaro says, when he manages to find his voice. “I kind of imagined you'd be the one, um, doing this to me. At least the first time. Is it—“

“ _Shotaro_ ,” Philip says, rolling his hips against him, because he has no more patience to spare right now. He spreads his thighs wide. “More, now,” he demands. 

Shotaro goes very red, his mouth opening and closing, before he snaps it shut and nods once, determined. He raises his hand, only to put it back down. Philip can see the aborted gesture to adjust his hat. 

Decisiveness, though perhaps not of the sort that Narumi Soukichi had intended. It makes him smile, and he doesn't say anything about being half-boiled. 

When Shotaro pushes inside him, it's slow, gradual, Shotaro's hands careful on his hips, glancing at him with every slow nudge. It's a lot of sensation to process: a hot, strange stretch that has Philip shifting his hips restlessly, trying to adjust to it, a fullness that brings his breath up short. Even so, Philip still wants more, faster. He huffs out a breath and hooks his ankle around Shotaro's back, urging him forward.

“Whoa, it—it's okay to take it slow,” Shotaro says, his voice shaky. His hands smooth down Philip's sides, petting.

“I don't want it slow,” Philip says, and if he sounds petulant, so be it. He winds his hands into Shotaro's hair, tugs him down and kisses him hard.

Shotaro jerks his hips into him with a start of surprise, and he's suddenly in to the hilt, thick and hot and almost too much. Philip gasps against Shotaro's mouth and shivers against him, his hands tight around Shotaro's back. 

It's nice to note that Shotaro is similarly undone, his mouth open on a low, breathless sound and his hips shifting in short jerks. 

“Sorry, sorry, is this okay,” he says, his hands on Philip's sides, on his chest, and Philip holds him closer and rolls his hips into Shotaro's, giving him a rhythm to follow, because of course it is, and he's telling Shotaro so with every breath.

Philip likes the stretch and the fullness inside him, likes Shotaro's mouth slick and wet against his, likes his leg hitched high on Shotaro's thigh, likes the breathless, thrumming limits of his skin. 

He doesn't remember exactly when his body first changed from a necessary inconvenience that needed to be fed, watered and occasionally rested to something—not vital, perhaps, but wanted. Something where he could say, this is mine, at least for the time I have it. It was given to me, and I like it when its belly is full, and I like the wind against its skin, and I like it when it is with yours. 

Shotaro gives him what he wants, his cock inside him and his body against his, and Philip meets him halfway, taking it all and demanding more.

He doesn't last long, but neither does Shotaro. When Philip comes into Shotaro's hand and on his belly, he keeps Shotaro close, his leg hooked around the back of Shotaro's thigh, even as Shotaro tries to pull out. Tells him to stay. 

Shotaro groans and buries his face in Philip's neck, his hips working in short, desperate thrusts that fill Philip to the brim, almost too much and exactly enough. 

He comes with a gasp that sounds almost painful, his mouth open against Philip's neck. 

“Oh,” Philip breathes out, cradling the feeling of Shotaro relaxing and growing soft inside him, strange and intimate. Philip holds him close, his hands in Shotaro's hair, curled around the nape of his neck. “Hello, Shotaro.”

Shotaro laughs, wholly unselfconcious and wonderful. He lifts his head and kisses Philip, missing his lips and landing on the corner of his mouth. “Hi, partner.” 

Philip realigns their lips so that they can kiss properly, because this is perhaps the part that he likes best, Shotaro languid and sleepy and willing to kiss for hours. His mouth is pliant and warm, and though Philip is familiar with the curve of Shotaro's lips, their softness comes as a revelation every time.

“We should do that again,” Philip says, once he's kissed Shotaro to his satisfaction.

“No. I'm exhausted, you've tired me out, good job,” Shotaro says, rolling over and groaning into the pillow. “Come on, shower, or it's going to be really gross sleeping like this.” 

“Mmm,” Philip says. He presses close to Shotaro's back and kisses the top of his spine. The second thoracic vertebra, some part of his mind supplies.

“And we should clean up before we open tomorrow. So that we're running a detective agency and not. Um.”

“A lair of debauchery?” Philip suggests. “A house of ill repute.” 

“Yes. No. Oh my god, Akiko better not stop in early. Or Terui.” Shotaro's eyes widen, no doubt envisioning this particular scenario.

“They're having a child. Surely they must be familiar with the mechanics of—”

“Well, okay, you've just killed just about any chance of another round by mentioning Akiko and Terui's sex life,” Shotaro groans into his hands. 

Philip opens his mouth.

“By which I mean, oh my god, no, don't tell me. I don't want to know,” Shotaro says frantically. 

“If you're sure,” Philip says, grinning, and Shotaro grabs him by the shoulders and plants his mouth on his, no doubt trying to keep him quiet.

Philip reaches up and draws the curtain closed around them. He kisses Shotaro again. 

He keeps on kissing him for a very long time.


End file.
